


I Knew all of You

by TSPrincxietyTrash



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, HumanAU, M/M, References to depression and anxiety, Self-Harm, abandonment reference, blood mention (1 instance), for both of them, it's more likely than you think, me? projecting onto Patton?, not just Virgil, reference to homophobia, reference to unhealthy eating habits, self-reflection fic, somewhat graphic depiction of violence but it's not too bad, the ending is sweet though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TSPrincxietyTrash/pseuds/TSPrincxietyTrash
Summary: The first time Patton saw him was in the playground.  He was nine years old and comfortable and happy at his school with his couple of friends.  But here was somebody new.  A tall but skinny boy with messy dark hair that fell into his eyes, sitting alone on the grass, hardly daring to even look at anybody else.  And Patton was curious, as he always was.  So he stuck a big, goofy smile on his face and off he went to make a new friend.Virgil is Patton's dearest friend in the whole world.  This is the story of how they grew up together, and how Patton came to see that there is always more to learn.  Even about the people you're closest to.





	I Knew all of You

**Author's Note:**

> So this is some pretty heavy angst in this oneshot and it's a very personal story for me. The rating is mature because of the difficult topics broached, there is no smut in this fic.  
> Just to reiterate some triggers:
> 
> Self-harm  
> Reference to abandonment  
> Anxiety and depression for BOTH of them  
> Reference to unhealthy eating habits  
> Slightly graphic depiction of violence  
> Blood Mention  
> Food Mention  
> Please, please let me know if I've missed anything.

The first time Patton saw him was in the playground.  He was nine years old and comfortable and happy at his school with his couple of friends.  But here was somebody new.  A tall but skinny boy with messy dark hair that fell into his eyes, sitting alone on the grass, hardly daring to even look at anybody else.  And Patton was curious, as he always was.  So he stuck a big, goofy smile on his face and off he went to make a new friend. 

“Hi!” he said brightly, waving enthusiastically even though he was standing right next to the boy.  Patton watched as the boy’s eyes went very wide when he took in Patton’s probably slightly too friendly expression. He didn’t say anything so Patton decided to power on, “My name’s Patton! What’s yours?” he asked brightly.  The boy seemed to shrink in on himself as Patton spoke, and Patton thought maybe he was speaking too loudly so this time he smiled and waited for the other to speak.  The silence stretched on and on but still Patton’s smile didn’t waver and eventually the boy’s shoulders seemed to relax a little.

“….em, I’m Virgil,” the boy murmured.  Patton smiled bright again and plopped himself down on the grass next to Virgil. 

“I’m nine years old! It was my birthday last weekend. How old are you?” Patton asked, rocking back and forth a little as he waited for Virgil to reply. 

“I’m eight,” he said quietly, not meeting Patton’s eyes.

“That’s cool.  It’s my friend’s birthday in February.  She was new last year and we became friends when she helped me find a ladybug.  Have you ever drawn a ladybug? That’s why I wanted to find one, to draw it,” Patton told his new friend all of these idle thoughts as they passed through his head.  Virgil was watching him with curious eyes.

“I like caterpillars a lot,” Virgil mumbled and Patton felt his whole face light up

“No way! _I_ like caterpillars a lot! We should go look for some!” just as Patton had been struck by this truly brilliant idea the school bell rang, long and loud, signalling the end of recess.  Patton bounced to his feet and smiled at Virgil again. “Let’s look for caterpillars tomorrow, okay? Bye!” Patton yelled over his shoulder as he began running back to class.  Just before he re-entered the school building he looked back to see Virgil still standing in the same spot, staring after him. 

 

 

 

From that day on the pair were almost inseparable.  It didn’t seem to matter that Virgil was in the grade below Patton, they would meet up in the playground at recess to look for bugs or to tell each other stories.  Patton would try to convince Virgil to climb trees with him and Virgil would worry that one of them might fall and get hurt, or that they might get into trouble so they would just play together instead.  At the weekends they would pester their parents for playdates, talking nonstop until they would eventually cave and one of the two friends would end up at the others house.  Sometimes they sat on Virgil’s bed while Virgil showed Patton his favourite books and read him passages, sometimes they sat on Patton’s living room floor creating whole worlds from Lego and making up stories for Patton’s toys.  Sometimes they rode their bikes down the street, racing each other or just cycling together to see how far they could go before they would both get a bit nervous and head back home.  Sometimes they would go and play in the stream down the back of Patton’s house and sometimes they would lie down in the grass in Virgil’s back garden, watching the clouds in the sky.  They were Patton’s favourite days, and any day without Virgil felt just a little bit less special, like someone had turned down the colour saturation on the whole world, or like someone had slightly numbed all his senses so he couldn’t quite feel everything fully.  After what seemed like all the time in the world and no time at all, the weeks bled into months and then into years.  Virgil kept growing, standing tall above his classmates.  Patton discovered that his frequent headaches were actually due to a need for glasses.  When he came to Virgil’s house one evening in large rounded frames his friend smiled warmly and reassured him that they were perfect, that he looked more like himself somehow. 

They made their way through middle school together, somehow closer now than they had ever been, and Virgil was there for Patton through everything.  He was there when Patton’s parents told him they were getting a divorce, he was there when a nasty bully broke Patton’s glasses, he was there when Patton was diagnosed with dyspraxia and he was there the day that Patton was beaten senseless because he wore a skirt to school.  That day in particular had been burned into Patton’s memory, the blinding pain as blow after blow landed on his face, the sting as his hands and knees hit the ground hard, the feeling of nausea and dizziness as they kicked his stomach once, twice, three times, the taste of hot wet blood in his mouth and then Virgil had thrown himself over him and fought back, taking the punches initially meant for Patton but giving just as good as he got.  And it had been Virgil who had been suspended, not the boys who had decided to attack Patton because of what he was wearing, but Virgil who had leapt to his defence without a second thought for his own safety.  And Patton had been there for Virgil too.  He’d been there when Virgil told him that one day his Dad had gone out grocery shopping and had never come home.  He’d been there when Virgil called him at 2am when he couldn’t sleep because he just _couldn’t stop worrying._ He’d been there when he and Virgil had gone back to Virgil’s house one day to find his mother drunk and angry, telling Virgil it was all his fault his father had left because he got bad grades at school and didn’t have any friends and because he was such a _weakling_.  That night he’d sat with Virgil in his room as Virgil had a panic attack, unable to breathe, unable to stop crying, unable to speak and Patton had waited with him, speaking to him calmly, asking him to point to things he could see and feel and smell and hear over and over and over again, counting his breaths with him until he could breathe again.  There was nothing they didn’t share with each other.  No heartaches were hidden away, no joys were overlooked, no interests were dismissed, no ideas were forgotten.  Patton had shown Virgil his soul, fully and completely, in every way before they even reached 18 years of age. 

In senior year of high school Patton had his first kiss with a cute boy under a mistletoe at a Christmas party, and later when he sat in Virgil’s room in borrowed pyjamas side by side with their backs against the cool stone wall Virgil beamed at him and asked him what it was like and he shared even that with his best friend because they had shared everything before, so why not this too?  And Patton knew he loved Virgil, loved him more than anyone else.  It didn’t matter that it wasn’t romantic, that Virgil wasn’t his boyfriend, because somehow what they had felt so much more important than that.  It felt like warm sun on bare skin, like the sound of leaves crunching underfoot in fall, like soft snow landing on frosted branches of trees, like new buds waiting to bloom.  It felt like the most special and the most ordinary thing in the world. And it felt like it would last forever. 

Patton felt his heart soar at their high school graduations.  He had never felt more proud than when he saw Virgil accept his diploma.  And then Virgil had left for Art College.  It wasn’t too far away, in the same state even, just a few towns away.  But Patton still felt his absence everywhere.  He felt it in the coffee shops they used to go to, he felt it when he walked down their streets, or when he walked down to the stream alone to have some time to think.  He felt it when he found a book he knew Virgil would like, or when he saw the sketches Virgil had done for him over the years, still blu-tacked to his bedroom walls along with pictures of them together at birthday parties, dressed up for Hallowe’en, hanging out with friends or just the two of them pulling stupid faces.  They still spoke, almost every day, they would send silly little messages or talk for hours on the phone, or even video chat so they could make each other laugh and comfort each other when they needed to cry. 

His first year at college Virgil had still been in high school and so they had seen each other every other day.  His second year, Virgil left for his own college and though Patton did miss him he was so proud and so, so happy.  And then he met Logan.  Logan, who was smart, so smart, and kind.  He was funny and sweet and somehow a little clueless while also being a genius.  He was calm and collected while Patton was over the top and excited.  He was tall and dark and handsome and when he blushed furiously and kissed Patton one day the first thing Patton did afterwards was call Virgil to tell him about it.  And not long after he was dating Logan, and eventually when Virgil was home for Christmas, he introduced them.  His two favourite people.  His best friend and his boyfriend.  And they warmed to each other immediately and Patton had never been so happy in all his life. 

Then his third year came, and the work load ramped up and up and up until he felt like he was drowning, like he could hardly breathe.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the information into his head, couldn’t bring himself to go to lectures, couldn’t stop forcing more and more food down his throat, couldn’t even get out of bed sometimes.  Logan helped him as best he could with gentle encouragement and kind words and Patton had fallen completely in love with him.  But it was still Virgil he went to when it was at its worst.  It was Virgil he phoned when the darkness was pressing in from every side, threatening to take over forever.  It was Virgil he told about the horrendous thoughts, the emptiness, the cloud of numbness that came over him sometimes and made him think that he would never be like he once was, that he would never get his old life back.  And Virgil was there to help him every time.  Because Virgil felt it too.  And so they helped each other, just as they always had.  Virgil helped him build up the courage to phone and make a doctor’s appointment.  Virgil went with him to his first therapy session, and his second and his third, and he waited outside for Patton each time.  And he shared what he learned with Virgil, showing him the work he did and helping him to apply it to his own life.  And slowly, very very slowly, the darkness began to drift away and happiness found its way back into their lives.  It was there in the warm cups of tea they made for each other when they were together, it was there when Patton drove all the way up to Virgil’s college to surprise him one weekend, it was there when they booked tickets to see their favourite play together, it was there when they talked on the phone in the early hours of the morning, laughing so hard they cried at some stupid joke, soon to be forgotten but this feeling, the feeling of togetherness and understanding and shared joy would be remembered.  Patton would remember it, he knew it.  Virgil knew him better than anyone, better even than Logan, who by now was certainly the love of Patton’s life.  But Virgil had grown up with him, had been a part of his life and a part of his heart for so long, and there was nothing, _nothing_ that they didn’t or couldn’t talk about. 

In his fourth year at college Patton finished his therapy and came home to find Virgil and Logan had thrown him a surprise party and baked him a (terrible) cake.  They had invited all of his friends, decorated his and Logan’s shared apartment and all three of them cried when Patton came through the door and he was so overwhelmed to be shown this much love.  To know how much they cared for him, that they were proud of him and that they would be there for him through anything.  It was the gentlest and most tender thing.  A tiny and delicate ball of light in Patton’s chest especially for Virgil and Logan.  He got his degree and left the struggles and difficulties behind, working as a waiter while Logan worked in a call centre to save up money so that they could go travelling for a few months.  And it was when Patton was telling Virgil about this exciting adventure that he saw them for the first time.  The scars. 

It was a Tuesday afternoon.  Just a Tuesday in May.  Virgil was home from college for a couple of days to spend time with his Mum and brothers, and of course any time Virgil was home he came to see Patton.  And there they were in the same park they had been coming to for years, sitting under a tall, skinny birch tree, its lush green leaves hanging down around them, as if cocooning them in their own special den, like they used to build out of blankets when they were little.  They were both lying on their backs, looking up at the leaves above them, gazing as the sunlight drifted through the gaps in the canopy, making beautiful cracked patterns in the pale blue sky above. 

“We’re thinking of Japan first, both of us have always wanted to go,” Patton was saying, his mind only half there was he dreamed of walking down Japanese streets with Logan’s hand in his, exploring and discovering a world so different from their own. 

“That sounds wonderful, Pat,” Virgil’s voice was so serene, low and rumbling but deeply content.  Patton looked over at him as he stretched his arm up to gently brush his fingers against some of the lower hanging leaves above him.  And as he stretched the sleeve of his hoodie fell down a little.  And a small patch of sunlight shone on his wrist.  And Patton felt his mind go blank.  He felt ice form in his heart as he saw them.  As he realised.  Virgil always wore long sleeves.  Even when they went to the beach.  And there were so many.  Some of them tiny, barely visible, and some of them long and angry.  All of them were faded with time, but very much still there, white against even his pale skin.  Some of them were neat, methodical almost, and some of them sporadic and desperate and Patton couldn’t look anymore as nausea churned in his stomach.  Because he didn’t know.  He had never known.  All those years together.  Hugging, holding hands, cuddling as they watched movies, holding one another as they cried.  All those long, long conversations at 1 o’clock in the morning.  All those day trips to a museum or the countryside.  All those afternoons reading together on Virgil’s bed, listening to the rain patter against the window pane.  All those shared playlists and albums.  All their conversations about therapy, about feeling lost and alone and overwhelmed and feeling like it was all too much and Patton hadn’t known, hadn’t even _noticed_ that Virgil was hurting so much that he’d made his pain something physical.  And now here they were, lying together in the soft grass, on a Tuesday afternoon in May talking about their futures.  And his scars were old.  They were old and Patton had never known.  And now Virgil was next to him smiling up at the sky, as his delicate artistic fingers brushed fresh green leaves.  He was giggling as he told Patton about the theatre major guy he had started seeing, laughing about some joke he had made with a friend the other day and blushing as he spoke about how proud he was of his work.  The joy was shining out of him and somehow Patton knew, felt in his heart that Virgil wasn’t there anymore, wherever he had been when the scars were new. But he had gone through it without Patton, maybe even without anyone at all and Patton’s whole chest was ice now. He lay there looking at Virgil, his best friend, the person he held most dear in all the world.  The person who knew him completely, inside and out.  Every detail had been shared, every inch of his heart and soul laid bare over the years, offered to Virgil in friendship and love and trust.  Above all else trust.  And as he looked he realised, that it’s not the same for everyone.  Even for Virgil, his soulmate, it wasn’t as easy to be laid bare as it was for Patton.  As he looked at Virgil’s soft hair fallen away from his face, his eyes alight with wonder and joy, as he took in the delicate curve of his nose, the slow movement of his hand above him, the rise and fall of his chest, the myriad of scars on his wrist he realised that this was the first time.  This was the first time Patton was seeing Virgil.  Really, truly seeing him without his own filter in the way.  He was seeing him now without his own expectations of sharing _everything_.  He was seeing him now without his own ideas of what Virgil was, and who Virgil was.  He was seeing Virgil as his own complete, full and complex self with a complete, full and complex life that existed outside of Patton.  He was seeing him now with Patton as very much a part of his life, a huge part in fact, but a part nonetheless, and not a whole.  And then he was seeing himself, as full and complete outside of Virgil too.  Yes, they had grown up together.  Yes, they had been there for each other through incredibly difficult times.  Yes, they knew each other better than anyone else knew either of them. Yes, they were soulmates. But they didn’t know all of each other.  And they never would.  And as he looked, as he saw, really saw, for the first time, Patton realised that that was exactly how it should be. 

The first time Patton saw him was in the park.  He was twenty two years old and comfortable and happy with his job, his relationship and his friends.  And here was somebody new.  And old.  Somebody he had known for most of his life, who he had grown up with.  Somebody he loved more than anybody else, who was also somebody he was still learning new things about. 

“Hey, Pat, are you okay?” Virgil was asking.  Patton had been quiet for some time.  He smiled at Virgil as he felt warmth settle in his chest.

“Y’know what, Virge? I’m actually not sure when I’ve been better,” he replied, still smiling brightly.  And then he let his eyes drift shut as he listened to Virgil talk about everything and anything and he couldn’t help but smile as he realised there was always going to be more for him and his best friend to learn about each other.

And that, he thought, was probably the most beautiful thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I cried while I wrote this.


End file.
